The Queen of Asgard
by Mistress X
Summary: Darcy was meeting her betrothed for the first time. Too bad it was on her wedding day.


Chapter One – Three Hours

Darcy was meeting her betrothed for the first time. Too bad it was on her wedding day.

Up until this point, she had not heard anything good about her future husband. There were countless stories of his treachery. She knew better than to believe rumors and hearsay—but what else could she do?

What she did know was a contradictory, jumbled mess. This man was a redeemed war criminal, and supposedly, teetering on the precipice of insanity. He was a master deceiver. A charlatan to the very core. And yet he bound together with his brother to defeat an army of dark elves and saved humanity. It was baffling that such an unstable man would soon be King of Asgard. Even more perplexing that his older brother turned down the crown for—of all the childish things—love.

But regardless of his indiscretions, he was still a Prince. And for the sake of politics, it was all that really mattered. Her father was eager for diplomacy between the realms. Darcy would be recognized as a martyr. And for those more dramatic, a savior. No more tabloids splayed on page six about the "ice princess" and "her crystal heart." This union was considered a genius political move. Her father ate it up like a voracious hound. It seemed he would whore her out to anyone, so long as he would live forever as "the man that united galaxies."

Darcy had every right to be terrified, angry, and downright explosive. But over the past few months, she found it better to lock herself away. To argue was pointless. To cry was childish. To beg was degrading. Her voice fell on deaf ears now. Her family was so busy being busy, they did not notice her silence.

Her father was campaigning across the states, boasting and bragging about her upcoming nuptials. She stared through him like a ghost on their plasma screen television. He gripped the podium and smiled so wide his lips curled under his gums. His laughter was exaggerated, pretentious, and downright ridiculous.

Her mother was no better. She was more concerned with planning perfection. Darcy did not participate, which was for the best anyway. Mom even went so far as to import precious items via the Bifröst like an intergalactic FedEx. Darcy felt like who they were died months ago—it made her sick.

Darcy had thought a shower would be as refreshing as always, but the water pelted her body like hail. Once she ended the storm, she padded across the marble bathroom tiles. Her feet transitioned to cherry hardwood and again to the cream oriental carpet. She curled her toes over the soft, plush fabric and exhaled. Soon, these simple little comforts would only be memories.

As she traipsed around the suite, one of those Bifröst packages caught her eye. It was centered perfectly on the California King bed. The box was wrapped with swirls of sheer gold fabric and an ostentatious green ribbon.

These were his favorite colors. She knew from scanning the dossiers. If she had no choice in marrying a God, the least she could do was make the best of a horrific situation. Darcy knew she was rationalizing, but it was the only sane coping mechanism she had left.

Darcy hovered on a small envelope, which was nestled in an oversized bow. In bold calligraphy, was her new title:

**Her royal Majesty, Queen Darcy Laufeyson of Asgard**

"Because that's not intimidating at all," Darcy said and blew a gust of held air from her mouth.

She knew it was from him. She had received a few correspondence letters from him before. They were nice, she supposed. She never wanted to respond. It would be less real. But her mother was relentless on immediate responses. So she wrote short, perfunctory, and utterly pointless words to appease her mother.

Darcy tore her manicured nail across the envelope and dug out the letter within. It was written on sparkling gold parchment, with that same flawless calligraphy.

_Lady Darcy,_

_Today, you will be first my wife and second my Queen. I hope this gift brings you reassurance of my undying devotion._

_Sincerely,_

_His Lordship, Prince Loki Laufeyson of Asgard_

Darcy rubbed her fingers across his name and sighed. His letters never sounded like the ramblings of a homicidal lunatic. Nor did they fit with the intergalactic terrorism he inflicted on Germany or New York City. But anyone could hide behind paper.

It had also occurred to her that he may have never written these letters. For all she knew it may have been composed with the practiced hands of a scribe. Darcy doubted Prince Loki took the time or effort to write her this … love letter? Could she even call it that? Surely, he had more to worry about than her return of affection.

She turned the letter over and let it twirl on the floor. She flopped, face forward, onto the bed and surrounded herself with linens. She screamed into the sheets and pounded her fists. Her legs flailed and thumped against the mattress.

In three short hours, Darcy would be the Queen of Asgard. This was the last time she would be here. And she had no time to reminisce—which was made more obvious by quick knocks on the French doors. Her tantrum would have to wait.

"Come in," She called into the sheets.

The doors to her suite opened and closed with two distinct clacks. She braced for her mother's high-pitched soprano and subsequent whirlwind through the walk-through closet. She readied for her sister Priscilla squawking about 'all the ways she could bring that Prince to his knees." When the squabble was not immediate, Darcy turned her head and flinched.

It was the Prince.

She had never seen Loki before, but she immediately knew it was him. His posture commanded attention and reverence. His outfit was most certainly otherworldly, like a costume—leather, gold, and shrouded in an extravagant green cloak.

But all that was nothing compared to his appearance. She never expected him to be attractive. She had always imagined him monstrous, like the rumors. His sharp, sculpted face and dark curls were unexpected. And those green eyes were hypnotic.

She scrambled to a more suitable, lady-like position on the bed and brushed stray hairs away from her face. One strand stuck to her lashes and she furiously blew air from her pursed lips to release it. She heard his small, baritone laugh and her spine bristled with electricity.

_What is he doing here? _Darcy thought and fidgeted with the tie of her bathrobe.

"I apologize for startling you, Lady Darcy," Loki said and bowed.

Darcy could only stare. This was a dream. She was sleeping. She had to be. This man was someone else. This man bent before her was not Prince Loki of Asgard. It could not be the same man responsible for thousands of civilian casualties. Loki of Asgard was supposed to be barbaric and psychotic. He was not chivalrous. Or apologetic. Or handsome.

He cleared his throat but remained bowed forward. Darcy realized her error and leapt from the bed into a deep, pitiful curtsey. She had only skimmed the sixteen texts on Asgardian tradition and royal customs. Upon reading wedding night rituals, she closed the book hard and decided she was done. She would take her chances on knowing little to nothing. Ignorance was easier.

And now it was painfully obvious that she did not know much.

"Sorry," Darcy winced and scrunched her face.

He straightened and smiled, "Do not let it trouble you."

The inevitable silence came. And while Loki appeared content, Darcy struggled for words. She clambered for something to fill the empty space.

"Um, do you want to sit down?" Darcy motioned to the bed with her open hand.

Loki squinted and frowned. Darcy chided herself for not memorizing those damn books. She looked like a complete ass. She was a walking, talking, breathing faux pas. How was he, let alone all of Asgard, going to respect some mortal too good enough to actually acknowledge their culture?

He bent down and scooped the letter from the floor. He cranked his neck up and glared at her with intense green eyes.

"I take this to mean you do not like my gift," The letter crinkled in his closing fist.

_Oh, shit. _Her thoughts blared like a trumpet. _He's so pissed. He's going to lose it._

What could she say? She already squeaked out a sorry. She didn't think another would be sufficient. And there was no way this subject was getting changed. His face remained stoic but those eyes seared holes straight through her body.

She really tried to read those texts but it was hopeless. They served better purpose collecting dust on her desk. Darcy would just have to flounder through this misunderstanding with what little etiquette she remembered from those gargantuan texts.

"I'm sorry, my Lord," She wavered and said, "I shouldn't have dropped that on the floor. It was careless. Please forgive me."

The creases of his mouth drooped into a frown again. He stood and the crumpled letter fell from his open hand. His eyes were no longer clouded with anger, but softer and suddenly despondent.

"Did you dispose of all my letters this way?"

She would have, honestly, if her mother and Priscilla hadn't fawned over them first. But he didn't need to know any of that.

"My mother and sister put them into a scrapbook for … remembrance." Darcy said.

"How thoughtful of them," Loki responded and perched on the ivory bedframe. "It is a shame you do not share in their acceptance of me."

Darcy was unprepared for her erratic heart, thumping wild and fast against her ribcage—the noise pounded and reverberated hard in her throat. She was defenseless against the disappointment and … was that _sadness_ in his voice?

The God of Mischief and Lies. Soon to be King of Asgard. Sad. Over a mortal woman? It was an impossible concept to grasp. She was of the same race he deemed to be beneath him, nothing more than a pissant craving subjugation. And now he wanted her acceptance?

"Did you really mean everything you wrote?" Darcy steadied her voice and sat on the bed.

"Yes," He said and turned to watch her, "If you believe nothing else, believe that I will honor you above all others."

Darcy wanted to trust him. That he would treat her as his equal, but she knew better. In the end, she was nothing more than a political pawn. It was easier to just nod her head and acquiesce.

"Now," Loki rotated and slithered across the linen like a serpent. "I do not wish you to hear the remainder of my vows prematurely. But I would ask of you a small favor."

"Sure," She said. He reached behind them and dragged something across the bed. On impulse, Darcy stiffened and squeezed her bare legs together. Oh, she was so not ready for—

"I would like to witness this," He smirked and presented her with the same superfluous box from before.

"Oh," Darcy exhaled and lost the heat in her cheeks. She could not believe half a second ago she had thought he would try something wicked. But in a few hours, he would have _the right to do with her as he pleased_ … funny how those were the few words that stuck like glue in her mind from those books.

She grasped his gift and stripped away the decorations. The white paper tore beneath her hurried fingertips and revealed a large wooden box. Darcy released the golden latches and lifted the cover.

Her breath was gone. She had lost it in the contents of the box. The glistening diamonds and emeralds assaulted her eyes first, second only to brilliant gold leaves. It was a gorgeous collar necklace—most certainly fit for a Queen. She was afraid to touch it. Afraid that her simple mortal fingers would mar it.

"Loki," She said and closed the box, "This is beautiful, but I can't—"

"My mother wore these jewels on the eve of her wedding," He said and implored her with glassy, green eyes. "It would honor her if you did the same."

No matter the person, no matter the circumstance, this was beyond Darcy not wanting a gift from her prospective husband. This was a matter of respecting the late Queen and honoring her legacy. She could not bring herself to utter another negative remark.

The prince pushed her hair to one side and she braced for the frost from his touch (yet another tidbit she recalled that he was not technically Asgardian, but a creature of ice) but it never came. The brush of his fingertips was rather electric and caused the fine hairs on her neck to stand alert. Darcy chided her heart for trashing about like a caged animal. She was not supposed to feel like this about a stranger—he was not supposed to make her feel _good_.

His fingers lingered on her for a beat and then her neck was heavy from the weight of the necklace. She marveled at his magic and smiled.

"Nice trick," She said and traced her neckline, careful not to touch the bejeweled collar.

"Do you wish to see your reflection?" Loki said and motioned to the standing mirror.

"Nah," Darcy fiddled with the tie of her bathrobe. "I guess I want to be surprised."

The truth was if she saw how elaborate and gorgeous the necklace was against her plain, pale neck she would take it off. He must have sensed her unease for his hands grasped her restless fingers and locked them together.

Darcy regarded him and let herself think that maybe, _just maybe_, Prince Loki of Asgard was not an entirely heartless monster. Maybe there was some kindness in him.

"Now that," Loki said and raised her hand to his lips. "I can do."

Before her heart could register his closeness and react, the Prince dissipated and left her hand suspended in midair. Darcy blinked and registered his absence. She supposed this was just one of Loki's many oddities.

This would most certainly be an adventurous marriage, but more realistically a true plunge into the unknown. And like it or not, Darcy had to be ready for anything.


End file.
